Ordermaster (15 page)

   
Kharl kept walking, but pulled the first nail from his pouch, letting his order-senses range over it. The linkages in the iron nails were more like clips than hooks, but he had discovered how to unlink whole segments. The nails were small enough, and he was quick enough, that he could handle a nail all at once. He couldn't have done that with a much larger piece of metal, and that didn't take into account the fact that his shields wouldn't have been able to protect him from that much chaos.

   
Kharl took the nail and threw it. None of the armsmen seemed to hear the faint clink as it landed two ranks ahead of where he stood.

   
With a deftness he would not have believed possible an eightday earlier, he used his "unclipping" technique to release the order bonds in the first nail. Immediately, intense heat radiated from the nail, but none of the armsmen seemed to notice.

As the last of the order unlinked, Kharl raised his own order shield.

   
Crumpt! Soil and chaos flared from the nail as it fragmented into an explosive white miasma. Dirt and rock fragments pattered against Kharl's order shield.

One of the armsmen dropped, and those near him scattered.

Kharl threw another nail, and then undipped the order bonds.

At the second explosion, the confusion and yells began to mount.

"Cannon! They're shelling us!"

"How?"

"Magery!"

"... don't have any white wizards ..."

"... cannon ... somewhere in the marshes!"

Kharl threw another nail, and removed the order.

Crumpt!

   
He winced as he felt the red-white chaos-void of death sweep over him, but he followed with another nail, and yet another.

   
Invisible to those around him, Kharl continued to rain forth random destruction for a time yet. When he stopped, he could feel that he was close to his own limits, and the rebel force had split-or he had split it. All the rebel armsmen were moving quickly, but the lancers and the leading foot continued toward the harbor. The latter half or so of the column had turned back southward, heading away from Kharl and past the disguised boat, seemingly not even looking at it.

   
Kharl had only covered more than twenty rods of the distance back to Dorfal and the boat before it had become a chore just to lift one leg, then the other. He had long since released the order shield, but holding the sight shield had become a major effort. Keeping himself erect and not falling was also becoming harder and harder.

   
The toe of one boot caught on something, and he sprawled forward. He managed to break his fall, somewhat, with his hands, but he had the feeling he'd slashed one palm on a sharp rock, and his left knee throbbed as he scrambled erect, shambling toward the straggly cattails protruding from marsh-grass-covered canvas. He knew he wasn't that clumsy, but tiredness and uneven ground could make the strongest man awkward.

   
His legs were shaking, and his eyes blurring as he clumsily struggled under the canvas flap, and released the sight shield.

Dorfal had to help him into the scow.

"Winch ... us ... back ..."

"All the way?"

   
"If... you do it slow-like ... still might see us ... some close ..." Each word was an effort.

   
As Dorfal began to crank the return winch, Kharl could feel the boat moving away from the causeway.

   
Nothing had gone the way it had been planned. Half the rebels had gone one way, and half the other. As a mixture of whiteness and darkness

swirled around him, Kharl thought he heard cannon. Had Hagen been more successful?

   
He tried to concentrate, to use his senses to find out, but then, a deeper blackness pulled him under, as though he had sunk silently into the marshes through which Dorfal winched the concealed scow.

XIV

ICharl's head was splitting when he woke. He opened his eyes, but the room remained black. He turned his head, but that didn't help. He tried to reach out with his order-senses, but a line of fire slammed through his skull, and his head dropped back onto the pillow. Another wave of darkness swallowed him.

   
When he drifted back awake later, he still could not see, but the headache was only a dull throbbing. He did not try to use his order-senses.

"Ser?"

The voice was female, slightly throaty-and unfamiliar.

"Yes?" His voice was croaking and hoarse.

"I have some ale ... Istya said you should drink as much as you can."

"You'll have to put the mug in my hands. I can't see right now."

   
There was a momentary silence, followed by a clink and a scraping sound.

"Ah .. . ser."

"Oh ..." Kharl raised both hands.

The unseen woman guided the mug to his right hand.

   
Kharl grasped the heavy mug with both hands before slowly moving it to his lips, tilting it slowly until he could feel the ale. He took a small swallow at first, then a larger one.

"What time is it? What day?"

"Midafternoon, ser. On eightday."

   
Eightday. He'd been sleeping or unconscious for two days. "What's happened? The rebels...?"

   
"The lord-chancellor... he said to tell you not to worry. He's been stopping by."

   
Kharl belatedly remembered his manners. "I'm sorry. I can't see you. Could you tell me who you are?"

"Yes, ser. I'm Renella. I'm an apprentice to Istya. Anew apprentice, ser."

   
"You've been most kind, Renella." Kharl took another swallow of ale. Outside of the headache, which had begun to fade with the ale, and his lack of vision, he didn't feel that poorly, although his left hand was also sore. But what had he done that had left him unable to see? Had it come from being surrounded by all the chaos he had released? Or was there a problem for an order-mage to handle chaos-even indirectly?

"I haven't done much, ser. I've just been watching you."

   
"Thank you." A scuffing followed, with a slight breeze wafting over Kharl. "Lord-chancellor ... he's awake, ser." After the briefest of pauses, she added, "If you need anything, ser Kharl, I'll be back shortly."

   
Kharl heard Hagen's boots on the polished stone of the floor and the shoes of the departing apprentice.

"You look all right," offered Hagen.

"I can't see," Kharl said. "Other than that..."

"Did you get hit in the head?"

   
"It has to do with magery, I think. I couldn't see for a day or two after the battle in Dykaru, either."

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

   
"I'm sure." Kharl tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Too much chaos is what causes the problem."

"You're an order-mage."

"What I did, remember ... it released chaos."

"You had said ..." ventured Hagen.

   
"I said I could do it. I hadn't realized what would happen. Most of this is still new to me."

   
Hagen said nothing, and Kharl wished that he could see the lord-chancellor's face. "What happened at the harbor?" he finally asked.

   
"We got off two complete volleys from all the cannon," Hagen said dryly. "They stopped and marched back down the causeway. They lost around a hundred armsmen."

"You don't sound that happy."

   
"I'm not. It was a feint. Hensolas had sent half his armsmen north to join the troops Fergyn already had. That was so that Fergyn could leave enough in place to threaten the Great House and still take the dockyards and warehouses."

"But not the harbor?"

   
"They got the supplies from the warehouses, and they have enough armsmen that they can take the harbor anytime." Hagen laughed, bitterly. "They've put you out of action for at least a while. It only cost them a hundred men, and those armsmen really were Lord Ghrant's armsmen."

"You think they're waiting for help from Hamor?"

"I'd not be surprised."

"What else?"

   
"They want us to attack them and be the ones that destroy the warehouses and dockworks?"

"So Lord Ghrant is the one who is hurting people?"

   
There was silence, although Kharl had the feeling that Hagen had nodded.

   
This time, Kharl waited, taking a sip of the ale from the mug that he still held.

   
"Casolan's been delayed. Forces under Lord Azeolis have been harassing him, and that has slowed his progress toward Valmurl."

"Azeolis?" Kharl had never heard the name.

   
"He's a distant cousin of Malcor. His holdings are in the high hills to the south of the mountains that border Vizyn."

   
"That's a long way north. How did he get far enough south to attack Casolan unless ..."

   
"Unless he'd been ordered to do so from the beginning? He couldn't have."

   
The more Kharl heard, the less he liked what was happening, and the bad news seemed unending.

   
"So there are more lords involved than you thought, and they've planned this out in more detail?"

"It would seem so." Hagen's voice was flat.

   
Kharl took another long swallow of ale, almost finishing the mug. "What do you think they'll do next?"

   
"If they've planned this carefully ... then they must have something worked out to wipe out Casolan's forces."

"Can you change his marching route?"

   
"I'd thought of that. They'll think that he'll take the shortest route. If he takes another way, that will at least give them pause." Hagen's sigh was soft, but audible. "All I can do is give them pause."

Kharl took a last swallow and finished the ale.

"How soon . .. ?"

   
"I don't know," the mage admitted. "It could be tomorrow; it could be an eightday." He had to think out what he was doing with his order-skills far better than he had before-and that was if he got his sight back-before the rebellion took over all of Austra.

   
"I'll talk to you later," offered Hagen. "I hope you're up and can see before long."

   
So did Kharl. He also hoped that he could offer Hagen and Ghrant much more aid than he had so far-and that he could find a way to remedy the damage he had inadvertently caused.

   
He sat in the bed, in his darkness, fretting over the rebellion he had sparked and pondering what lay ahead.

XV

V_/neday

        
came and went, and twoday dawned warmer and clearer. While Kharl was up and out of bed, he still could not see, but he could employ his order-senses-sparingly-to get around. The need for deliberation in movement made him think about Jeka, although he could not have said why, and about Warrl. He did understand why he had thought about his younger son. His own lack of deliberation and understanding had been one of the reasons that had forced the boy into seeking shelter with Mer-ayni. He couldn't have explained why he'd thought about Jeka, but he did.

   
At the moment, there was little Kharl could do about either Jeka or Warrl, and if he didn't find a way to be more effective in helping Lord Ghrant, he might never be in a position to help either of them. Yet, without seeing, he could not read The Basis of Order, and his reflections on what he had recalled seemed to spin him in circles.

   
Finally, when he had not heard from Hagen by late morning on two-day, he decided to make his way down to the lord-chancellor's study. He had to wait outside for close to half a glass before the lord-chancellor was free, and, using just his order-senses, he did not recognize either of the lords who left, although he caught the names-Shachar and Harunis.

"I'm glad you're up and around." Those were the first words from

Hagen, even before Kharl eased into the chair across the table desk from the lord-chancellor.

   
"I still can't see, but the headaches are gone. What are the rebels doing?"

 
  
"Having their own problems, thankfully. According to the scouts and various rumors, Lord Hedron doesn't trust Hensolas, and threatened to withhold supplies and support if Fergyn wasn't given the right of summary refusal on any of Hensolas's plans. That might gain us another few days."